


Short Stuff

by deepfathom



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7432244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepfathom/pseuds/deepfathom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From now on, all of my HTTYD drabbles and oneshots will be posted here and rated accordingly by story. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gods Must Be Crazy

"The Gods Must Be Crazy"   
(General)  
....

The Gods Must Be Crazy.

Or at least moderately insane...

...No, definitely crazy and Odin hated him, to boot. Thor too, obviously.

Why else would he be sitting in the Great Hall, jaw dangling wide open, the mouthful of mead he had been about to swallow now sprayed over the tabletop while the others looked on in surprise and mild disgust?

"W-what did you just say?" Hiccup spluttered.

"I said Berk's been chosen to host the Inter-Tribal Games this year," Astrid replied, a bit more impatiently than when she had burst through the doors to deliver the exciting news.

Hiccup pulled a sleeve across his mouth. "The…the what-huh?"

"Are you serious," Snotlout chimed in, a wide, roguish grin crawling over his face. "She said Berk's hosting the Inter-Tribal Games. You know, where the whole Archipelago gets together to bash each other around in the spirit of fun and friendship? It's like Thawfest times twenty!"

Hiccup blinked, paled…

Snotlout had just drudged up a very unpleasant series of memories. The Games only happened every ten years, the last occurring when Hiccup was twelve and not much more than a twiggy, scraggly sapling. Most of the youngsters from the other tribes were muscular, hulking and, thankfully, incredibly stupid. It still baffled him how he'd managed to stay alive through those three arduous days of "fun and friendly" competition on nothing other than wits and his easy-to-miss size on his side.

Almost as if acting upon survival instinct, Hiccup stood, performed a sharp about face and made for the entrance.

"Wait!" Astrid caught him by the collar and dragged him backwards, plunking him back down onto the bench. "Hiccup, as the chief, it's your duty to represent Berk in the Games. We have tons of work to do to get ready, not to mention you need to start training right away—"

"T-training?" he gulped, heartbeat skipping. "Training for wha—all right, I wanna know who okayed this without running it by me for chiefly approv—"

"Oh, hey!" Tuffnut exclaimed as if noticing Hiccup for the first time. "He's the chief!"

"That's right, he is the chief," Ruffnut agreed, stroking her chin.

Snotlout snorted into his mug. "Wow. They finally noticed."

Tuffnut fist-bumped his sister. "Congratulations, big guy! You get to compete with the biggest…"

"…and the best…"

"…in the chiefs-only Brawl-A-Rama Battle Bowl!"

Hiccup's lunch turned in his stomach, threatening to evict itself.

"Lucky," said Snotlout. "The Brawl-A-Rama's like, the ultimate poundage."

"Superior pummelage," said one twin.

"Premium slayage—" started the other.

"Nope." That did it. At the mention of "slayage", Hiccup bolted. "Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!"

"Hey! Get back here!" Astrid called after him. "Where are you going?"

"Uh, nowhere in particular! Just ditching Berk for a couple months—TOOTHLESS! Y'know, see the world, find myself, throw up..."

And he was gone, leaving nothing but a swinging door behind.

"Please tell me we have a backup plan…" Snotlout said after an awkward moment.

With an exasperated grunt, Astrid let her head fall into a palm.


	2. Sister For A Day

Sister for a Day

(General)

...

"Nice…work, guys," a mud-plastered, slightly dazed Hiccup gasped from his position on the ground. "Way to stick it…out."

"Oh, that's right," Snotlout retorted from the left, "this was your idea. If my arms weren't so dead from triple speed yak-tipping, I'd probably punch you in the face right now."

"Shut up, Snotlout, you smell bad enough without all the whining." Astrid lay opposite him with her arms spread out to the sides, every inch of her dotted with minor scrapes and smeared with sticky pine sap. "Besides, be glad you're not the one that had to play 'extreme squirrel tag'. It's gonna take me weeks to get this stuff out of my hair!"

"Ch-ch-chicken racing—ACHOO!" Covered from head to toe in downy feathers, Fishlegs more closely resembled a poofy, inside-out pillow than a Viking.

"Doesn't sound so bad to me."

"I was the chicken!"

"Oh."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to look at another one as long as I live."

The four teens, lying flat on their backs in a circle, could easily have been mistaken for a ragged band of warriors fresh from a war; fatigue, bewilderment and the tiniest bit of sheer terror etched into their grimy faces.

"What was it Tuff made you do again, Hiccup?" queried Astrid after a pause.

"Mega boar pit."

"Ugh!" gasped Fishlegs. "Mega boar pit?"

"Let me put it this way: twice as many boars, twice as much 'fun'. At least according to Tuffnut."

Astrid wrinkled her nose. "Gross!"

"Yeah…but it was worth it to cheer up Tuff while Ruff's sick, don't you think?"

"Heh, he's lucky we were so willing. Those two have no idea how to function without each other."

Fishlegs shook his head. "How do they do this stuff day after day after day?"

"Who knows? Or…do we even want to know—"

"Huh!" huffed Snotlout. "I am never, ever gonna be a 'substitute sister' again. Ever. And none of you can make me."

"Aw, c'mon," Hiccup sighed, "you saw how bummed out he was this morning—"

"Hey, guys!" The familiar voice broke into their conversation, bringing all but the stiff and loudly complaining Snotlout upright.

"Ruffnut?!"

The other half of the Thorston duo smiled as she took a seat in the grass beside them.

"B-but…aren't you supposed to be sick?" Fishlegs asked, voice laced with worry.

"Psh," she waved him off. "I'm over it. Bugs like that can't keep a Thorston down for long. Couple of good pukes and we're set to go."

The others shared a disgusted glance.

"Tuff's got it now, but before he really got going, he told me how cool it was that you all stepped in and did a few of our favorite things with'im."

"Oh, please, no," Snotlout begged. "Please, Odin, I'll do anything you want! Just don't make me—"

"Who's up for a yak-pie fight?!" Ruffnut sprang to her feet and galloped away. "Woohooo! Last one there's a rotten Gronckle egg!"


	3. The Assassin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a small, stupid thing. I don't know where this small, stupid thing came from, but it inevitably got more dramatic and complicated than I ever intended it to be. Maybe I should start accepting that that's how I roll and go with it?
> 
> Anyway…it's kind of vague and not incredibly well-written, but I don't really expect it to go any further than where it is. I already have enough half-finished ideas floating around and I just had to get it down. X)

The Assassin

(Rated T)

...

At the center of the Great Hall, a goblet slipped from trembling fingers, clanging on the stone floor like a death knell. In the frozen silence that followed, Hiccup staggered forward a step, then collapsed to his knees, face white as winter, one hand grasping at his throat as he began to retch.

At that moment, two individuals detached themselves from the gathered crowd; one, fierce and blonde, toward the Chief, the other, dark and cloaked, for the nearest exit.

"No!" Astrid shrieked, cupping his face in her hands. "No, no, Hiccup, please! Stay with me, stay with me! Say something!"

The answer came as a frightening series of twitchs and a bit of foam seething from the corner of his half-open mouth. Tipping forward, his bloodshot eyes widened, glazed over. His chest heaved with every ragged, choking breath he attempted to take as her sturdy arms circled securely about him.

Another joined the grisly scene.

"Great Thor, he's been poisoned!" Gobber shouted.

"What?" someone blurted.

"Poisoned?"

"Gothi!"

"Find Gothi!"

The silent old woman was already shoving past bodies much bulkier than hers, face lined with concern but set with purpose. Reaching into a pouch, she drew out a phial of greenish liquid, tore out the stopper, forced Hiccup's mouth open with a couple of fingers and poured the entire potion straight down his throat.

Not one soul dared to blink...

The tangible tension loosened considerably as the seizures began to slow, his breath became less labored, his eyes rolled back and closed…

"Wha…what did you…" Astrid trailed off, seemingly the only one to notice the great doors at the far end of the room open just enough to allow someone to slip out.

"No' t'worry, lass." Gobber crouched beside her, laying his hand on Hiccup's sweat-drenched brow before relieving her of his weight. "He'll be a'right soon enough—hey! Where d'yeh think yer—wait!"

"Be right back. There's something I need to look into, like, right now."

Astrid sprinted across the hall and was outside before anyone could intervene.

….

The would-be assassin was small and fast, but not quite fast enough to escape the keen observer from the top of the Great Hall's steps.

The woods, of course. Astrid thought, carefully noting the shadow's sharp turn.

With that, she vaulted down the stairs, skipping the bottom three and wrenching the axe from its resting place on her back upon landing. The intruder had speed and camouflage on their side, advantages that would have given any other Viking some trouble while tracking them through the night-shrouded forest. Astrid, however, was not just another Viking. She could run these woods in her sleep and was incredibly light on her feet for someone toting several pounds of fur, leather and metal.

It was almost too easy. The young woman closed the gap between them in record time, letting out an infuriated yell as soon as she was certain her target was well within reach. With a mind of its own, the axe went hurling from her hands to bury a blade deep in a tree trunk mere inches above the villain's head.

Astrid left little opportunity—or breath—for defensive maneuvers, let alone so much as a surprised yelp. The axe remained embedded in the tree, all but forgotten for now, but her attack was just as potent on adrenaline and bare fists alone. The two collided and in a whirl, Astrid had her opponent in a firm headlock.

The assassin, however, had other plans and shoved a leg between hers, tripping her up and sending them both to the dirt. The steep, downhill roll that came after was not a pleasant one. As if trying their best to contribute to the scuffle, loose rocks and jutting tree roots indiscriminately gouged every available soft spot on either body, leaving cuts and bruises exposed through torn clothing.

Sometime during the descent, Astrid decided she would not the one pinned under the other at the bottom of the slope. As momentum waned, she gave a tug, pulling them through a last rotation before bringing the tumble to an abrupt end. Beneath her knee, the assassin squirmed, frantic to escape the clutches of this unexpected attacker.

"Who are you?!" Astrid growled before pushing back the hood and tearing away the black wrappings masking the face.

…Masking her face.

The stranger was a girl…a teen. Lithe and slithery with dark eyes and hair, she had the classic build of an assassin, but, to Astrid's astonishment, not the demeanor to match it. Instead of the cruel, amused smirk of experience she was accustomed to seeing stretched across the vile features of similar enemies, the girl's trembling expression was that of desperate terror. Her chest heaved with sharp gasps and the eyes were round, glistening in the patchy moonlight as the jaw clenched.

Astrid hesitated…

Before she could think to block, a pair of joined fists came hurling out of nowhere, striking her upside the head and sending her reeling sideways while the girl made her getaway. The forest spun in sickening loops, nearly causing Astrid's stomach to riot in protest. Cursing her own stupidity in no quiet manner, the warrior staggered to her feet and began a rather crooked pursuit.

The now panicked assassin could do little to resist as the Viking, though dizzy and somewhat lacking in her former agility, caught up quickly and seized a handful of the cloak, dragging her backwards into a chokehold.

A dagger flashed, biting into the flesh of Astrid's unprotected bicep and enraging her further. Grasping the wrist of the hand holding the blade, she twisted before any more harm could be inflicted. The girl screamed in pain as she was flung around and driven face-first into a thick tree trunk with the arm pinned behind her.

"Some assassin you are," Astrid spat through her teeth, pressing the newly acquired knife to her captive's gulping throat.

"P-please…" begged the girl, struggling against strength much greater and more disciplined than her own. "Please, you don't understand—"

"What's not to understand? I've heard this story too many times and I know exactly how it ends. But not this time."

"I-I had no choice! You have to believe me, I never wanted to—"

Anger flared through Astrid's veins again, rising through her face to gleam in her eyes. The underage assassin flinched at the sudden increase in pressure, genuine fear for her life frozen in her countenance.

"Believe you?! Why in the name of Midgard should I believe a cold-blooded…" An unusual, half-concealed splotch on the teen's neck stopped Astrid short, then shocked her to the core when, after a breathless pause, she removed the knife and pulled the bunched wrappings free.

A Slavemark. A twisting, red scar clearly, permanently labeling this young woman as property, not a person. The girl was indeed only a frightened, expendable pawn in someone else's sinister scheme. Astrid's grip slackened, as did the slight frame she held against the tree.

"He'll…he'll kill me. He's going to kill me."

"What? Who's going to—"

"I c-can't…he'll kill me. He'll kill me! H…help me…" The looming consequences of capture on a foreign island and the very visible terror of returning to a cruel owner without having finished a job appeared to be too much. The eyes slid out of focus, the girl slumped and Astrid grunted as she caught her deadweight.

….

For about the hundredth time that hour, Gobber leaned over the bed where a deathly pale Hiccup lay. He knew well enough that Gothi's painstakingly concocted antidote was working, but he had to make sure. He had to see with his own eyes every few minutes that the Chief was still alive, still breathing.

The blacksmith himself had carried the young man out of the Great Hall and down the steps, trailing a growing entourage of anxious villagers which he'd had to shut out upon arrival at the Haddock home. Now, only he remained to watch over Stoick's son in the quiet, private aftermath…

Gobber started at the sound of the front door swinging to and the heavy footsteps that followed.

"Oh, for Freya's sake, can't ya even let'im alone for more than three minutes—"

It was not the silhouette of a worried citizen coming upstairs as he'd expected, but two individuals in a single, shadowy mass; both female, one climbing while the other dangled over a shoulder. He watched, mouth opening in realization as the dirt-covered form reached the top and separated.

When her unconscious load was safely deposited in a corner, Astrid turned, face ashen beneath bruises which suggested a recent struggle.

"We have a problem."

"Aye, lassie, I noticed. But Hiccup'll pull through, y'know. Always does." He paused, giving a nod in the direction of their limp visitor. "And I see yeh've saved us some trouble and taken care o' the rest."

"No…" Astrid murmured. Dropping into a crouch beside her captive, she pushed aside a lock of dark, sweat-dampened hair to reveal a serpentine scar near the base of the girl's neck. "No, it's much more serious than we think."


End file.
